Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 220
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
They laugh, and Eliot switches spots with Ben.
The gym slowly starts to fill. Middle-aged broker types jog on treadmills. Probably preparing to crunch numbers and screw someone over. The corporate world is sharky and ruthless, something my dad excels in and something I have zero interest in touching.
It’d be fun to play a duplicitous game to scale a corporate ladder, but the cost is all the bodies you crush to get there.
I’m fortunate that I don’t need to pay that price. That I can spend my days fixated on this album and not worrying about which soulless prick I need to step over.
I’m on my back, scrolling through texts from Phoenix about the arrangement to our third potential single. My eyes start heavying, and I fight to read each word, hating that slumber is trying to steal me away from our music.
“Tom.” Ben shakes my arm.
I flinch into a light groggy groan. Knew I’d fall asleep. Thank fuck I didn’t hug the dumbbell. “How long was I out?”
“Twenty minutes, maybe. We’re going. You ready?” The gym is packed now. I don’t care who’s staring. I’d stare at me too. Sleeping Beauty should’ve been named after me.
“Yeah.” I reach for Ben’s hand, but he’s already grabbing mine and pulling me to my feet.
A week later, I’m out celebrating Eliot landing the biggest role of his acting career with tickets to Chicago. I thought about inviting Phoenix, but before I could, he was already saying, “I have a gig at the Symphony tomorrow night. That okay?”
“Only if you plan to make it up to me,” I said.
He glared. “What do you want?”
I began to grin.
“Jesus, what do you want that’s not going to ruin the band?” he added.
“I take great offense that you think my ideas are band-ruining. I was simply going to ask for thicker chords in the third, untitled song.”
“Fine. Thicker chords.” His eyes tried to drip down me. He stopped himself halfway there.
Phoenix couldn’t walk away from me.
It was a feeling I wanted etched in my bones. I wanted to feel it every time I lifted a foot and moved.
Chicago hasn’t begun. Eliot and I are in the bathroom. He’s zipping up his fly after taking a piss. I’m already washing my hands as he says, “I better meet your hot drummer before Charlie.”
“You will,” I assure.
“I’m in the role of Phoenix’s namesake. Who better to meet him first than me?”
Eliot has been cast as Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart in the stage production of Amadeus. It’s been the talk of the theatre world all week. Mostly because he’s a towering six-four and Mozart was a petite five-four—and the casting director was quoted saying Eliot Alice Cobalt’s audition was simply too true to Amadeus to dismiss on height alone.
Once Chicago ends, we’re swarmed outside the theater, and not because we’re famous. Everyone exits the various Broadway shows at the same time, and a crowd naturally forms and floods the street.
“Where are Harriet and Ben?” Beckett asks me in his leveled, calm voice. Even if his eyes dart around like we might be meeting a tempest.
Between the lights, sounds, and people, I’m disoriented. “Just look for him,” I say. “Harry is too short to find.”
Beckett sends me a what the fuck side-eye.
“I’m not saying we leave her,” I defend. “Okay, I am not your twin.” I wave my hand toward Charlie who is evicting himself from this situation. He’s already climbing into our Range Rover that can’t drive off with the surrounding bodies.
Eliot sees over us. “There he is. BROTHER!”
Ben pushes his way through the masses with his bodyguard. Eliot, Beckett, and I rush to help him through the crowd. People just stand in place obstructing the flow, waiting for directions, a cab, a clue—who knows.
Where is Harriet? Panic shoots to my throat, and I swing my head around until I see her blonde hair peeking out from behind Ben’s broad shoulder.
He’s carrying his girlfriend piggyback.
“She fell,” Ben says. “I think someone shoved her.”
“Who?” I ask.
Eliot searches the street with his eyes. “The bastard must be flayed.”
“I’m fine, dude,” Harriet says in a flat tone. “Just some scraped knees. You don’t need to break out the homicidal tendencies for me.”
“Where’s the fun in that,” Eliot and I say in unison. We share a grin, the night better with some unpredictable chaos. Sorry that Harriet’s knees had to be sacrificed.
Strangely…wouldn’t be the first time.
That…that memory is a weird one. She knelt on broken glass after she offered to blow Charlie in exchange for him to stop antagonizing Ben. Blow job did not happen, let it be known. Charlie rejected her. Ben consoled her. We all realized she’s a little messed up—and I don’t mean that in a rude way, even if it sounds rude.
While everyone piles into the SUV, I glance backward at the street. The Manhattan Symphony Hall isn’t too far away. I could go watch Phoenix play in the orchestra. The desire balls up in my lungs, and my breath becomes shorter and hotter.